


looking for some new words

by queerheda



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort, Science Bros, Sickfic, i am finally posting a hurt tony fic, look at me actually doing something i've been meaning to do for like two years, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:42:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24310756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerheda/pseuds/queerheda
Summary: "He considers trying to find his phone and calling Bruce because really, even if he’s no stranger to debilitating aches this is getting too much even for him. But that would mean talking, or looking at a screen, and both concepts are awful."Tony holes himself up in his lab and stays there with a brain-splitting headache. Bruce finds him anyway.
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark
Comments: 1
Kudos: 70





	looking for some new words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [taylor_tut](https://archiveofourown.org/users/taylor_tut/gifts).



> Written for Sickdays on Tumblr, prompt "noisy". It's still the 21st in America so I'm technically not late. 
> 
> Fuck whatever the MCU did after the first Avengers movie that isn't Ragnarok, Black Panther or Captain Marvel, but bless the Science Bros anyway. 
> 
> Title from Choke by OneRepublic.

The world is so goddamn _loud_. 

It’s really not, he knows, but his ears have lost that memo somewhere, buried under the mountains of work littering the surfaces in the lab. Tony presses his hands harder on his ears as the soft, mechanical whirring of automated processes in his lab slices into his brain. He’s already resigned himself to painkillers, but that was hours ago and his head is still splitting in two, every noise and every glinting light making it exponentially worse. 

He doesn’t know what time it is; he doesn’t even know what _day_ it is. He muted JARVIS when everything was starting to get too much so he can’t ask him, because unmuting him sounds like a world of pain. He has no idea how long it’s been. He feels like he’s been in pain forever. 

(He has been in pain forever, but this specific pain has probably lasted significantly less than that.)

He’s tired as hell. He can’t sleep because his head hurts like hell. He would probably feel better if he could fall asleep. 

He considers trying to find his phone and calling Bruce because really, even if he’s no stranger to debilitating aches this is getting too much even for him. But that would mean talking, or looking at a screen, and both concepts are awful. He found out some time ago that even his own voice grates at his ears. Hours ago? Maybe? Days? How long has it been? 

His thought process isn’t what it should be. It’s halting every few steps, sometimes crumbling altogether, and he can’t string two coherent thoughts together even when he can make them separately. Sleep deprivation, probably. Maybe dehydration. Definitely a migraine. He’s gonna throw up if he tries to put anything in his mouth, water included. 

Turns out, he doesn’t have to venture away from his ratty couch in search for his phone after all, even if the idea is sounding increasingly tempting while also sounding absolutely dreadful, because at some point of Tony wallowing in his misery the door to his lab opens and someone walks in. The footsteps sound like bombs going off in his head.

“Tony?” Bruce’s voice is low, not quite a whisper but almost, but Tony can’t suppress the groan he makes at the stab the word takes at his brain anyway. 

“There you are. Talk to me.” Tony cracks one eye open and comes face to face with Bruce hovering over him. A warm hand is placed on his forehead; it feels both comforting and painful, the act itself welcome but the contact burning on his hypersensitive skin. 

“Hi there, Brucie,” Tony breathes out, letting his eye fall back shut. “Nothing to talk about. Jus’ a headache.” He tries to give Bruce a crooked smile, but he’s fairly sure it comes out as a grimace. 

“Tony, nobody has seen you in three days. You muted JARVIS sixteen hours ago. He’s been freaking out a bit.” That long? Huh. “That’s not just a headache. Have you taken anything for it? When’s the last time you drank water?” 

Tony presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and takes a deep breath. Exhales slowly through his mouth. Bruce’s hand on his forehead shifts, moves closer to his hairline and travels into his hair. It’s probably greasy and disgusting as hell. If he’s been in his lab for three days he probably hasn’t showered in at least four. 

Right. Bruce asked him something. 

“Dunno,” he mumbles. Was there something else? Yeah, the painkillers. “Uh, took a few pills at some point. Didn’t help. Time’s all,” he makes a wavy gesture with one hand that bumps into Bruce’s arm,” screwy.”

“I bet,” Bruce huffs. Tony gets the feeling he’s smiling a little. “You should be in medical, but the place is a nightmare.” The hand disappears from his hair. Tony is inclined to agree – he avoids doctors other than Bruce whenever he can already, and SHIELD medical is its own kind of hell. The lights are always too bright, there are people bustling around, and he’s had several anxiety attacks there. So. Not a fan. Especially now.

“So how about my lab instead?” Bruce asks. Places his hand on Tony’s shoulder so that he can rest his fingers at his throat and feel his pulse. “I think we need to get some stronger painkillers in you.” Tony can picture Bruce’s expressions in his head. It’s nice to have something to focus on, besides the pain, even if it is exhausting. 

Bruce takes his hand and pinches his skin lightly. “And water. You’re dehydrated.” 

“I will throw up anything you put into my mouth and I will pass out if I stand up,” Tony says. His voice is hoarse; scratchy. If it were anyone else he would be vehemently denying everything and anything, but Bruce is… Bruce. Bruce has been an exception for a while, now. There’s something soothing about having an exception. And the possibility of feeling better sounds awesome. 

“You know that means an IV,” Bruce warns gently. 

“I know,” Tony says. He contemplates his next words for a moment, waits through the surge of anxiety it brings to say them sincerely, to really mean them. “I trust you.” It’s difficult. It makes him hold his breath for a tad longer than he needs to in order to keep the pain in check. 

(Nothing’s keeping the pain in check, really. But deep, controlled breaths do a little.)

Bruce takes his hand and squeezes. 

It’s quickly determined that he, in fact, cannot stand at all – can’t even sit up. The attempt leaves him shaky, makes his blood roar in his ears (why does even his own body have be so goddamn _loud, please, make it_ **_stop–_** ), and requires Bruce to think about an alternative solution. 

He suggests moving the equipment down to Tony’s lab. 

“Clint’s hanging around, I can have him help me carry the equipment,” he says. “Thor and Steve are also here, and I think Sam is, too.”

“No Rhodey?” Tony asks. 

“No Rhodey,” Bruce confirms. “Sorry.”

Rhodey would be his first choice for everything, always. He’s the one person that has stuck with Tony all these years, more family to him than anyone else. But Rhodey has his own life that doesn’t revolve around Tony, so he can’t always be there. Barton is the least horrible choice out of the rest of the Avengers, having seen him running on caffeine fumes with a migraine before. He doesn’t need Thor’s booming voice, and he especially doesn’t need Rogers and his condescending hovering.

“Barton it is, then. Can you turn off the lights?” 

Bruce squeezes his hand again, and turns off the lights as he exits. 

With Bruce gone, Tony is left alone with his blinding, brain-splitting headache. His fingers crack as he presses them to his eyes, and it’s like fireworks right by his ears. There’s a clock, somewhere. Why does he have a clock that ticks? Why would he ever get an analog clock? Pepper’s doing? Is the god-awful ticking even a clock? 

He has no idea how long Bruce is gone, but this time the door opens and there are two sets of steps walking in, accompanied by the clinking of medical equipment. Tony squeezes his eyes shut and moves his hands to cover his ears. Bruce starts setting up what he needs, giving quiet instructions to Barton who quietly does what he’s told. The lights are on again, but Tony finds that far less of an issue than the steps and the clinking and the talking and the ticking and the whirring echoing in his ears. 

Then Bruce turns to Tony. He takes his wrist and gets him ready so he can stick a needle into him, and calmly talks through the entire thing. He explains what he’s doing step by step, pausing for a while to give Tony a moment to calm down when everything gets too much for a second. Bruce lists the chemicals he’s going to be injecting into him, and finally picks up a woven blanket from the backrest of the couch and settles it on Tony. 

It doesn’t take long for the painkillers to kick in. Bruce dismisses Barton, who shuts the lights off as he leaves, and picks up a StarkPad from a nearby table as he settles on a chair. Tony can feel the the pain first shifting, and then starting to dissipate – it’s like it drains away and reveals a slightly soggy but mostly functional train of thought. 

He’s exhausted. He knew that already, of course, but the absence of pain leaves him with a chance to actually fall asleep. 

So he does. 

**Author's Note:**

> Toss a comment to your author maybe? And hit me up on [Tumblr](https://explodoriot.tumblr.com) if you want to scream about fandom bullshit (or literally anything else, I crave interaction).


End file.
